Webber's POV

As it turned out, giving Wilbur my real name was simultaneously a terrible and fantastic idea. On the one hand, it had been so long since I really heard the name said by anyone other than a certain angry spider that I almost forgot that it was, in fact, my name. Not to mention, he seemed absolutely fascinated by the name, repeating it under his breath over and over again, and occasionally proclaiming that it didn't fit us at all. It was rather frustrating, to be perfectly honest, and it was enough to make us wish we had just given him the name we usually went by.

But the thing that made it worth it was how absolutely furious it made aforementioned angry spider.

"What!? Am I not good enough for you!? Are you just sooo angry that you decided to cut me out entirely? Stupid monkey doesn't deserve to know my name anyway. I seriously cannot believe you. After all I try to help you, you still pull this?" And other frankly hilarious complaints.

"You know," I said soft enough that Wilbur couldn't hear. "Last time I checked, you were angry that I didn't go by my actual name."

Which, of course, turned Webber's angry rambling into a mash of furious sputtering before he finally settled on a low grumble.

Very soon, Wilbur gave a disapproving sniff and commented on our haggard appearance, accurately comparing us to a half-drowned spider caked in sand (which, yes Wilbur, thank you for the observation, wonder why that's what we look like, much appreciated, very astute). Without much of a word, he turned his back to us, beckoning us to follow him with his tail, before scampering off through the sand.

We didn't have much experience with sand. Once, when I was very little, my parents had taken me and Erika to the beach and let us play in the ocean. Even without fur to get clumped and dirty, I hadn't been fond of it, and I dragged Erika out to play in the water instead, letting the waves knock us over repeatedly and giggling all the while. Our spider half had absolutely no experience with beaches or sand, having lived inland for his entire life before his ill-fated dinner.

There had been some sand on the mainland, but for the most part, the places near the water turned rocky, not sandy.

Therefore, trying to trudge through sand, especially as fast as Wilbur, was actually rather troublesome. Sharp shells and small animals seemed to appear out of nowhere, desperate to trip us, and even the ground itself kept shifting under our feet. Wilbur said nothing, almost pretending not to notice even though we caught him glancing back and smirking more than once.

Luckily, before too long, the sand thinned out and was replaced with mud and grass, something we were much more familiar with. The grass was surprisingly plush, much softer and thicker than anything on the mainland. It would have been pleasant if it weren't for the unnatural, distant cries that came to our ears. We glanced over at Wilbur, but he didn't seem to be affected very much, so we just assumed they were just the sounds of the creatures here.

"You know, most of the creatures here are nasty," Wilbur said at one point. "Luckily for you, I tend to be much nastier. With me, the King of the Archipelago, the only thing you have to worry about are dragoons. And, of course, myself." And then he flexed his hands to show that he had claws and gave a sort of grin that we were not fond of.

"Dragoons?" I questioned instead.

"Really? You don't know what a dragoon is? Oh, what a sheltered, sad little life you live Tyler." Wilbur paused and reared back to stand on two feet, using his hands to wildly motion. "Big brutes, all scaly and gross, really hot- oh gosh, that's not how I meant that. I meant as in like, they are literally fiery. They set things on fire. I've only met one person who can even think about fighting them, and-"

He cut himself off and fell back to all fours. Something dangerous passed over his face, and we didn't miss that he dug those claws of his into the mud, and his tail started quivering as if he was holding himself back.

"You don't want to fight them, trust me," he said instead, then continued onward.

"Hold on, we're not going to ignore that. Someone who can stand toe-to-toe with the flaming lizards sounds like a great ally to have right about now." We jogged to catch up with him. As we opened our mouth to continue, though, he shot us a look that was pure venom, and suddenly his threats made a lot of sense and we decided to drop it there.

The next time Wilbur spoke, it was after we had left the beach far behind. He bounded towards the edge of a pool with water so clear that we could see directly to the bottom. "Now, make yourself presentable to a king, okay? Your mere presence right now is insulting me." He turned away and plopped down, which confused us greatly before realizing he was trying to give us some semblance of privacy. A... surprisingly thoughtful gesture, although one that didn't really matter to us.

The water was an impossibly comfortable temperature, but the cleanliness of it didn't last long as we dipped our hands in and started using it to clean the sand and muck out of our fur. We had gotten quite used to mud in our fur, so we weren't always the most on top of keeping clean. However, once again, we wondered what it would feel like to finally scrape all the layers of grime away, to tug every last clump free and wash free every spot of dirt and blood.

And so, that's what we did.

At some point, Wilbur gave up on looking away and instead settled down to watch, a shocked and almost disgusted look on his face as he saw just how much came out. We hesitated around each scar, but ultimately worked through them. There were far too many to work around anyway.

"Jeez, Tyler, when was the last time you actually cleaned yourself?"

We didn't respond. Not that we were ignoring him or anything, but because we really didn't know the answer to that. Finally, though, after far too long, we leaned back, eyes closed in bliss. We felt... lighter, warmer. The once-clear pond was now completely clouded with mud and old blood, but we couldn't remember a time where we had felt so clean.

"Okay, wow, I don't know whether to be disgusted or impressed," Wilbur commented. He had long since settled himself on his belly, his head resting on one hand. "Uh, feel better now?"

We didn't even know spider fur could be so soft. We gently ran our fingers over one arm, wincing at the rawness of our skin but too enamored with the softness to stop. "I suppose," I murmured. "Are we less offending to you?"
"Significantly," Wilbur said approvingly.

"Good," I said. We opened our good eye to look at him. "Because you promised us to show us back to the mainland, right?"

Wilbur let out a long, suffering sigh. "Really, why would you want to go back there? You look like you've had a pretty rough time there." He motioned vaguely at us, likely referring to the scars that littered our form. "Trust me, you could live a pretty luxurious life here. As long as you ignore the sand. And the dragoons. And the volcano. But that only erupts sometimes. Doesn't traveling with a king sound pretty great?" He leaned forward, eyes glittering.

"No." We shook our head. "We have a duty back on the mainland. People to get back to." As soon as we said it, our voice hitched, and we looked away, hovering one hand over our throat. "Th-they need us, see?"

"Uh-huh. Tell me, Tyler, how did you lose your eye?"

Shock tore through our chest. We snapped our head to look at him head-on. He was keeping his face fairly neutral, but he was keeping himself too neutral, a false mask.

We ghosted our claws over the scar, wincing as we touched the bare swathe of skin. "That's... unrelated. It has nothing to do with this."

"Does it not? Unless there is a creature on the mainland with knives for claws, I don't see how you could have gotten that kind of scar from anything other than another person. Is that one of the people you need to get back to?"

"You don't know anything," I snapped.

"I don't? I'm assuming that your mutilated hand is also unrelated? And that suspiciously knife-like scar across your neck-"

We shot forward, cutting off his words as we pinned him to the ground. His eyes widened, although he didn't seem incredibly upset. Maybe even impressed. The thought shot a wave of anger through our chest, and Wilbur grunted as claws buried into his fur. "Maybe you'd like one to match," I growled, pressing more weight into his wrists.

"Okay, okay, wow, sounds like I was a bit too close to the truth." He struggled for a moment, then tried to push us off with his feet. "Wow, that's, er, a lot of muscle. I have no doubt now that you could snap my neck, although that would be very inadvisable. And impolite."

"Take me home or I'll deeply consider it."

"Well, I can't really do that unless you get off of me."

We hesitated for a moment, considering, then released him, moving a few steps back. "I have to get back to the mainland. We've had... falling outs in the past, but I would do anything for my companions." I cast my gaze away. Once, not too long ago, they were more than companions to me. They were family in every sense of the word. But things had happened, and things had changed, I had learned my lesson about growing soft towards anyone. My softness had ended with torture at Wilson's hand. My softness had ended with WX dying in my arms.

"My point is," Wilbur continued, as if none of that had just happened. "You've clearly had a rough time on the mainland. What could possibly be so important there that you would leave the opportunity of a new life? The archipelago is nothing but that opportunity. Lose a friend? Leave the island behind. Mad at someone? Leave the island behind. Watch the one you cared about more than anyone else die because of a stupid mistake you made?" He paused, one hand running through the fur on the top of his head as a mirthless laugh rumbled in his chest. "Leave it all behind."

"I want to leave it all behind," I said before I could think better of it. As soon as the words left my mouth, though, I immediately clamped it shut. I ran my claws through my fur again and shivered at the sensation. My skin felt impossibly fragile beneath my touch, as though it could all break away with the right words. "I... I want to leave everything behind."

"Then... I'm confused? What's the problem?"

"The problem is that I can't, okay?" I rounded on Wilbur, fur bristling and whiskers shaking on end. "Take a good look at me, and ask yourself exactly why I can't leave it behind! Because everything I've done, everyone I've hurt, everything I've lost follows me. Every single thing I would give anything to leave behind is permanently scarred on my body. Abandoned and hurt and hated, every step of the way. That's all I am. And maybe... that's all I really deserve to be."

An abomination like myself didn't deserve anything else, really.

Some part of me had wanted to believe that going by my old name and cleaning away years and muck and grime would be enough to change everything about me. I was sick of all of it. I wanted nothing more than to be a child. I wanted it so bad that it hurt, that my chest heaved for breath at even the mere thought of being loved unconditionally again. But every step of the way, my parents had betrayed me, and my siblings died at my hand...

I hadn't meant to fall apart in front of the painfully frustrating monkey. I had never fallen apart like this in front of anyone, honestly. And, really, it had nothing to do with Wilbur being the way he was. The numbness, the barrier I had tried so desperately to uphold to keep myself together, had cracked fatally long ago, and now even the smallest of touches were enough for the cracks to grow. Every word and every touch and every thought made the barrier weaker, shakier, made the cracks expand and everything inside leak out faster and faster and faster. And I tried to patch them. Oh stars, did I try. Every second, I was giving every ounce of my energy to keeping it intact, pressing my palms against the holes and trying to stem the tide that was threatening to break out, but I only had so many hands and so much energy and so many seconds until it finally shattered, and I knew very well that nobody would want to pick up the shards. People would shy away from it, step gingerly around the glass in terror that even the slightest brush against it would injure them too. And maybe it would, how would I know? Nobody had ever touched them before. Nobody ever tried to stop it from breaking. In fact, everyone did everything they could to shatter it. Pleading with me to let it go, to let it all come rushing out, not knowing that we would all drown in the backlash.

The cracks were growing and I couldn't stop it, and now it was past leaking and it was pouring out, no matter how hard I tried to stop it, no matter what I did to hold it back.

I tried to breathe, and it was wrong. It was choked in my throat, lodging in my chest like a piece of stale food.

I tried to breathe, and nothing came in or out.

I tried to-

I tried-

I-

…

…

…

Freedom.

Air rushed into my chest as inky splotches wavered in my vision. Tinnitus rang in my ears, piercing my brain. Images blinked in and out of existence, before finally settling on the half-blinded limitations this body still had. I collapsed forward, both unused to such a heavy sensation of corporeality and the strain of standing on two feet. I caught myself with my hands, but only barely, 'whiskers' twitching furiously in a poor attempt of standing on their own.

...freedom?

"Tyler? Buddy? Pal?"

That monkey. It was speaking. To me. He hovered awkwardly at the edge of my range of motion, his entire body twitching almost as much as his tail at the moment.

"U-uh, l-listen, I didn't mean to make you... spiral? I just didn't realize how fragile..." His voice broke away though, as I slowly raised my head to stare him in the eye. I wonder what he saw? Surely he couldn't tell that something had changed; he hadn't known Tyler long enough to be recognize the way he held himself. Still, though, he scampered back, eyes impossibly wide. He shrunk back as I dragged myself to my full height, stumbling slightly in an attempt to keep my balance but thankfully succeeding.

"You in there, pal?"

A laugh bubbled in my chest. Light and airy at first, then quickly growing into hysterics. I doubled over, claws grasping into the mud beneath me, the thrill of something as simple as sensation forcing every nerve in this crippled body to light up in joy. Dirt beneath my claws. Air in my lungs. I raised the crippled hand to my face with another bought of incredulous laughter. The hand was close to useless after the injury, but the claws still worked just fine, and tiny pinpricks of pain shot up from where they dug into the skin.

How long had it been since I felt pain?

It wasn't as if I was immune to everything that had happened to us, but the sensations came to me from far away. Echoed, almost, as if coming through a chain of signals. The only thing I ever got was feedback.

But this, this, oh this was real. It was almost overwhelming, how strong everything was coming in.

Ultimately, though, my grasp on it was weak. Even after all these years and all the strain on his mind, Tyler still was, and would always be, more powerful that I. Stronger will, even when everything else was crumbling around him.

I couldn't keep my hold on it, so I let it go without fight. Some day, but not today.

But the taste was nice. It was enough to remind me what I was fighting for.

…

…

My breaths were coming back to me. My body was shaking violently, intensely enough that I couldn't even keep my arms or legs straight enough to prevent from collapsing into the mud.

And that's exactly what I did.

I didn't even have the energy to be upset at the mud now staining my freshly cleaned fur. It was all I could do to keep myself awake, really. I couldn't bring myself to react in any way when Wilbur poked my shoulder, or even when he grabbed me and started shaking me.

"You alive? You're looking kind of dead right now. Listen, if you have boundaries, totally get that, but you gotta tell me what those boundaries are before going all creepy on me."

I groaned, really incapable of doing anything else right now.

His hand dropped away, only for his face to appear in front of mine a moment later. "Oh good, you look significantly better." Wilbur tapped a finger to my head. "Knock knock? Care to explain what that was about?"

In lieu of an answer, I threw my arm over my eyes. Egh, why was my head pounding so hard?

What... exactly had happened? I gently prodded my most recent memories, only to end up... at a shattered barrier. I mentally reached out, gingerly pressing against the shattered pieces that still desperately clung to the edges. Wondering how such a violent destruction of such a perfectly constructed barrier ended with such a strange calm instead of the impending doom I had sensed while it was failing.

"Ouch! Cursed thing-" Wilbur hissed, wincing back as a jewel of red blood welled up on his hand. He pressed the minor injury to his mouth, frowning in disdain at a half-buried seashell in the sand.

I stared sightlessly at the shell, because the longer I stared at it, the more I realized that it wasn't just a seashell.

For that shell wasn't a shell, it was the jagged edge of a barrier that had just collapsed under its own weight. A barrier that had, for the first time, been brushed by someone else, had sunk its greedy fangs into another person's flesh, and that person didn't run or flee.

He wasn't scared of it.

He wasn't scared of me.

He wasn't-

He wasn't-

The barrier was gone. The thought scared me so much, but a new thrill rose from deep inside. The barrier was gone, and I was still alive.

For the first time in as far back as I could remember, I cried out of something other than sadness.